To Hyde No More
by eosphorosa
Summary: Severus thinks back to his days as a Death Eater and the horrors that came from them.


_I watch her, sleeping. She's so beautiful it's insane to think that only a few years ago she was a frightened first year with bushy hair, wondering what was to become of her. Now she sleeps, not making a sound. Her long, sleek hair cast in dark amber waves across the pillow. Her womb swollen eight months with our love-child rises and falls gently as she breathes.  
  
This woman was, and is my saviour. I thank the Goddess every day that nothing happened to her before the end of the war. It was her illegal dabbling in old obscure magics that saved me from a life of insanity, and the world from a life of tyranny.  
  
I should start from the beginning. I have time. When I joined Lord Voldemort, he put my skills as an ardent potion-maker to use at once. His intents were cruel and malicious to say the least; however, I am not usually one to state the obvious. As I was still in school and had a year left to go, I was easy to manipulate—he called, I did his bidding without hesitation. (As every good Death Eater should do.)  
  
It never occurred to me, however, that I was to be used for other purposes as well. Being one of the youngest of Voldemort's ranks, I was usually subject to their cruel, spontaneous whims. They would shackle me to whatever they could find and have their way, and...other...things...But for all their schoolchild tricks and cruel schemes, none were as cruel as Lord—er—Voldemort himself.  
  
Voldemort too always had his way with me, though it was away from the other Death Eaters in a secluded area. It always seemed odd, the two extremes that my body took from these beings; the Death Eaters—both men and women—liked it rough and bloody. When in Voldemort's presence the first time though, he healed my cuts and bruises, and kissed away the tears that lined my face. I could not take this cruel punishment. Why was he being so gentle? Why did he not take me hard as the others had and be done with it?  
  
I found out soon enough after he'd had his way and his time, and we both lay there, I on his pale chest, and he twisting a lock of my hair between his fingers. I found that he was every bit as maniacal as the other Death Eaters whispered about in the dusty hallways of our deserted mansion. He talked to me, friendly like at first, as if divulging a secret. About his plans for the world, being the most feared of all men, purging the world of mudbloods, even about weeding out his ranks (of which there were too many.) In a pause, I lay in shocked silence, and wondered how he could (and would) achieve all this. As if in reply to my unspoken thoughts, he told me of the potion he wanted me to brew. A concoction so potent, and so terrifying, it had been lost to man for around two-hundred years. This potion, when brewed properly, would change the drinker into a terrible, yet indestructible fighting machine. I had not caught his hints until I looked up into his deep-chocolate eyes and saw the malicious glint in them—he wanted me to drink it.  
  
I could not refuse him; he was my lord and master after all. Although I acted as lover to him most evenings, I was still his slave. I was given a list of ingredients and the notes on how to make the potion, and I began to make it. What He did not tell me was that this potion, once taken, led to bouts of insanity and visions—unbidden. How any man could live with that, I did not know at the time, however, I learned to do so very quickly. This potion when ready for me to take would make me worse than the person the muggles called Mr. Hyde. And, as I found out on accident, this was exactly where He got his idea. This ironic piece of information was almost too much for me to bear. Was this not the man who wanted to show the world, including the muggle one, that he was the most powerful man on it? However, I did feel like Dr. Jekyll, becoming excited as each stage of the potion was slowly completed.  
  
As this potion was difficult to make, much more so than Polyjuice, I continued my forays with Him, and he continued to heal my wounds from Their sick orgies—being forever gentle, yet never kind. If he wanted more excitement, I gave it to him, unyieldingly. If he wanted more intimacy, I gave him that as well—the same.  
  
However, it was not easy being the personal concubine of the Dark Lord when I had deadlines from here to the moon for both Him and school. In my sixth year at Hogwarts the homework was tremendous, supposedly preparing us all for NEWTs. I looked even more terrible than I ever had before because of my workload and my extra exploits. I do believe that Dumbledore knew the entire time about my extra life, yet it did not matter what he knew or did not know. What mattered was that the plan was followed through to completion. Even—even if I did not like it that well.  
_  
Severus walked into the dimly lit room, taking in his surroundings as he shut the door softly. The fire burnt low in the grate and large beeswax candles were placed randomly around the room. The air brought in from his entrance made their flames flicker and dance, and their shadows moved ominously around the room.  
  
The room itself, once lavishly furnished, was old and showed signs of decay. He tread lightly, for fear of breaking something. The bed in the corner was a four-poster, and was hung in old heavy velvet; once a proud black, now grey with dust and cobwebs.  
  
Severus did not see or feel the eyes watching his every move from inside the curtains. Nor did he see the body that owned them rise to greet him as he entered and took note of his surroundings. In fact, no part of Lord Voldemort did he see or feel except the one visible, tangible object in the room that was not old, cobwebby or dusty. The Dark Mark stood out grotesquely from above the fireplace as most family crests did in large manor houses. The skull was that of a real human, most likely muggle, enlarged to twice its size; the snake also was genuine and double its natural size. Twisted to look like a large tongue licking the sky, the snake was shiny and black with blood-red eyes.  
  
Unwittingly, Severus touched the month-old tattoo on his left wrist to the wry smile of his Lord and Master. He had put that there for a reason, and was glad that Severus was clever enough to discover it. Indeed, the magical tattoos on the left wrist of each Death Eater turned black when he called them. He had one himself, yet he liked to be more theatrical. This was why he had the large Dark Mark above his fire. If ever a Death Eater was lucky enough to see it (which was no one before Severus), he or she automatically assumed he used it as their trumpet call...

A/N: This was intended to be a very dark, fairly long and involved story. I need feedback to tell me what is liked and what isn't so that I may continue in a manner my readers like. me


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